Friday.
October 17, 1845.
Do tell me what you mean precisely by your ‘Bells and Pomegranates’ title. I have always understood it to refer to the Hebraic priestly garment — but Mr. Kenyon held against me the other day that your reference was different, though he had not the remotest idea how. And yesterday I forgot to ask, for not the first time. Tell me too why you should not in the new number satisfy, by a note somewhere, the Davuses of the world who are in the majority (‘Davi sumus, non Oedipi’) with a solution of this one Sphinx riddle. Is there a reason against it?
Occy continues to make progress — with a pulse at only eighty-four this morning. Are you learned in the pulse that I should talk as if you were? I, who have had my lessons? He takes scarcely anything yet but water, and his head is very hot still — but the progress is quite sure, though it may be a lingering case.
Your beautiful flowers! — none the less beautiful for waiting for water yesterday. As fresh as ever, they were; and while I was putting them into the water, I thought that your visit went on all the time. Other thoughts too I had, which made me look down blindly, quite blindly, on the little blue flowers, . . . while I thought what I could not have said an hour before without breaking into tears which would have run faster then. To say now that I never can forget; that I feel myself bound to you as one human being cannot be more bound to another; — and that you are more to me at this moment than all the rest of the world; is only to say in new words that it would be a wrong against myself, to seem to risk your happiness and abuse your generosity. For me . . . though you threw out words yesterday about the testimony of a ‘third person,’ . . . it would be monstrous to assume it to be necessary to vindicate my trust of you — I trust you implicitly — and am not too proud to owe all things to you. But now let us wait and see what this winter does or undoes — while God does His part for good, as we know. I will never fail to you from any human influence whatever — that I have promised — but you must let it be different from the other sort of promise which it would be a wrong to make. May God bless you — you, whose fault it is, to be too generous. You are not like other men, as I could see from the beginning — no.
Shall I have the proof to-night, I ask myself.
And if you like to come on Monday rather than Tuesday, I do not see why there should be a ‘no’ to that. Judge from your own convenience. Only we must be wise in the general practice, and abstain from too frequent meetings, for fear of difficulties. I am Cassandra you know, and smell the slaughter in the bath-room. It would make no difference in fact; but in comfort, much.
Ever your own —